


He who paints the dead

by PoeticMilk



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Artist Hongjoong, Attempted Murder, Bittersweet, Darkfic, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Let's unpack!, M/M, Murder Fantasies, Necrophilic Tendencies, Nude Modeling, Oh and Jongho as Seonghwa's bro lol, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Violence, death fantasies, main pairing is SeongJoong, mentions & describes death, model seonghwa, please always mind the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticMilk/pseuds/PoeticMilk
Summary: Seonghwa wasn't special to anyone except to him, the artist with the blue hair and hands full of paint, the artist who liked his models like most people enjoyed their food; dead. After meeting Park Seonghwa he swore to himself that he wouldn't fail this time. He would create his very first masterpiece with him, his canvas, Park Seonghwa, his cherub.Please mind the tags! ♡
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Good day, Ladies and Gentlemen!  
>  I'm finally back with a story that actually started out as something completely innocent—as fluff even.  
>  But soon the story got a little darker and eventually just fell into a bucket of black paint. The planning and researching for this story was HUGE fun. I hope you guys have lots of fun reading it!
> 
> This time there won't be scheduled uploads. The chapters are going to be rather long so I could in no way upload one every week. I'd suggest keeping up with my twitter as that's the easiest way to stay up to date with literally anything I do! ([Voilà~](https://twitter.com/OhPoeticMilk))
> 
> **Before we start, let's go through the formalities:**
> 
> Please read through the tags carefully as they contain possible trigger warnings for this story. In every chapter summary you will find trigger warnings specifically for the individual chapter. Did I miss a TW? Please kindly let me know!
> 
> None of the pictures I'm using in this fic are mine (except for the lil' edits), so credits go to the righteous owners. I'm simply using pictures for aesthetic purposes and to make it is easier for you guys to imagine e.g. surroundings.
> 
> It wouldn't be me if I didn't go overboard with the edits and goodies so...please enjoy them!
> 
> This is a work of fiction. It goes without saying that I do not condone the behavior of the characters in this story. And while using real life individuals to represent them, I do in no way think that they really behave the way they're portrayed in this story.
> 
> This was written for fun, so please have fun reading. If you feel uncomfortable with this story, I highly suggest just closing the tab!
> 
> I'm talking too much! Let’s embark on a new journey with  
>  “He who painted the dead”  
>  and me, y'alls' PoeticMilk ♡ 
> 
> **TW: grieving, funeral, mentions death**

**‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾** 𝕳𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 **☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙**

**✧ 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓊𝑒 ✧**

  
  
  


_“Nothing quite encourages as does one’s first unpunished crime.”_

_— Marquis de Sade, 120 Days of Sodom_

  
  


_6 April, 2014_

If there was one thing he detested, then it was people who talked a lot, noisy people. He didn't like how the shape of their lips changed with every word they pronounced, didn't like the nasty sound of their spit swirling in their mouths. But what annoyed him most were the sounds of their voices piercing through his ears like an ice pick crushing his eardrums, their volume deafening him, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. He preferred simple smiles to loud laughs, hated mournful cries but loved silent tears, those tears that were as sweet as sugar, he would brush them away with his thumb if he wasn't so fond of them. It had always been like this, ever since he was a child. He remembered covering his ears whenever people around him got too loud, it successfully drowned out most of their high-pitched voices and left him with nothing more than a dull droning sound that he was able to endure a lot better. In fact, after some time, he'd grown to like it. It felt like being underwater but the only difference was that you could actually breathe. It was only ever his own voice that he liked, no, _loved_ hearing. It was the only noise he accepted. 

Hongjoong had only realised later in life that his hatred for loud noises had started with the birth of his brother. It wasn't jealousy that made him dislike his younger sibling, it wasn't the fact that his parents' attention was suddenly shifted toward the little baby and didn't focus solely on Hongjoong anymore. To blame were his brother's endless cries, his screams that destroyed Hongjoong's eardrums to the point where he feared he'd become deaf. These soulless screams of a demon sent by Satan himself to annihilate Hongjoong's peaceful world were the actual culprits. As much as he'd begged for his brother to shut up, to just shut his saliva-covered mouth, the little baby wouldn't listen and Hongjoong never understood. 

He remembered that one day very well, it was a day that Hongjoong had believed was the only chance for him to change his bitter fate. It was not, but he couldn't have known. That time he was sharing a room with his little brother, the _sunshine_ , like his parents had always called him, though all he brought with him was heavy rain. It was a night accompanied by millions of stars and a bright moon that had enabled Hongjoong to see the blurry outlines of the furniture, his hands and feet. With his eyes fixed at the ceiling where his very own glowing stars stuck to, his sleep had been interrupted by his brother's horrific screams, similar to those of a puppy being slain. Covering his ears with his hands or with his pillow was useless, the strident cries still managed to come through and Hongjoong was trembling with anger, his barely four year old fingers digging into the bed sheets. He couldn't endure it anymore, he had to put an end to these horrible sounds. 

He could still see it vividly in front of his eyes, the image of his brother staring at him with his tear-dimmed eyes, how he was trying to reach for Hongjoong's soft, curly hair with his tiny hands and fingers while he was lying in his crib so helplessly. There was no ounce of empathy in Hongjoong's plain black eyes as he reached for his little baby brother. One hand firmly grasping the bars for support and the other one slowly reaching down, he pressed his palm flat on his brother's wet lips. The noise died down, the kicking stopped. Just his brother's big eyes that seemed reflected Hongjoong's silhouette like a mirror were staring at Hongjoong cluelessly, what could've been going through his little head? It was for a split second that he'd felt pity for his brother. It was pity that had arisen from seeing how he didn't even resist, he just obeyed. He'd already accepted his fate on that day.

And then the door flung open, his mother stood there with a faint smile on her exhausted face. She kissed Hongjoong's forehead, brushed through his hair and told him how proud she was that he was trying to calm down his brother. Every parent would wish for a child like him she had said and Hongjoong believed her. He still did to this day. She gave her sunshine a kiss, he was quiet as never before. It was the most silent night Hongjoong had ever experienced. The next day, the screams had come back. 

For years he'd told himself that he'd just tried to calm his brother down, that there had been no bad intentions. He knew better now, accepted the fact that he'd failed that day. But it seemed like he'd eventually succeeded. 

He thought that with his brother's passing he would get to experience the joy of silence again. The cold and somber atmosphere in the room was partially overshadowed by the warm light coming from the ceiling lamps and Hongjoong sat on the floor in disappointment. He'd expected this to be different. He wanted to enjoy the funeral, wanted to enjoy it in silence and tranquility, but the loud sobs, the strident crying took away all the joy and excitement he'd felt in the beginning. His brother's screams when he was a baby were nothing compared to the noises he heard at his funeral. He wondered when they would stop and when he finally wouldn't have to stare into this face smeared with snot and tears and saliva anymore. He was talking about his mother who was sitting next to the shrine and who'd been avoiding looking at the portrait that was placed on top of it, using the countless tears blocking her view as a cowardly excuse. _Look at your son, look at him for as long as you could before it would be too late_. The past three days she'd spent crying over her dead child and sometimes when she fell silent for a minute and Hongjoong believed it was finally over, the next crying session would be cued with a loud, howl-like sob and everything would start over again, leaving Hongjoong with his blood boiling in his veins, with his fingers clutching his black trousers firmly. Sleep was something unfamiliar to her during those three days and even the days after. The only person he was grateful for in the small room was his father who Hongjoong believed was mourning just the right way. He was silent, there was no sobbing but there were tears streaming down his face and sometimes they would stop but then they would start falling again whenever his wife started shouting sentences like _Oh, my poor son, my precious baby, my sunshine_. Hongjoong had caught himself staring at his father's face for a long time. He'd never seen his father cry before but even now after having grown up, he believed it was the most beautiful memory of his dad. He smiled every time he thought back to it, he'd always liked his father more. 

He'd heard about funerals with open caskets, knew that it was common practice in some parts of the United States and it was to his utmost disappointment that his family hadn't taken the chance to do the same. Hongjoong would've loved to look at his brother's silent body for the last time. He would've looked at it for hours probably, he would've wanted to enjoy seeing his brother be quiet for the first time. Maybe this would've become his best memory of his brother, but thinking about this now, there was no such thing. All his memories with little sunshine sounded like the loudest and most horrendous orchestral piece in his ears…

The number of people visiting the funeral wasn't going down, not even on the last day. There was barely a moment in which it was just the three of them, or four, if you wanted to include the spirit of the dead person too, the reason behind all the tears and sorrow. Hongjoong wondered if his brother's ghost was in the same room with them. Was he hugging his mother and was he desperately trying to dry his father's tears? If he really was in the room, Hongjoong wished he was doing none of that. He rather wished for him to punch his hyung with his little ghost hands, he would've loved to see him scream at him—but there'd be no voice, not a single sound. God, he would've enjoyed that. The mere thought lightened up his mood and unlike the other people coming by, didn't spend his time crying. He'd tried to cry once or twice, but the result was always the same; dry eyes, dry cheeks and an almost invisible smile on his lips. His mother was outraged by his tearless face, kept banging against his chest, was shaking his tiny shoulders and was screaming at him, asking him why he wasn't shedding one single tear for his dead brother. She had said _dear_ , not _dead_ , though. Her rage just annoyed Hongjoong even more but he was too tired to push her away and he knew it would only upset her more. He just let her do whatever and prayed for her to fall silent as soon as possible. But his father, his dear father, while trying to hold his wife back from further damaging Hongjoong's fragile body of only 15 years, justified his dry face by saying it was his way of mourning, said that he was in too much of a shock. He said that, soon, his tears would start pouring down his face like a waterfall. But the tears never came, not at his brother's funeral and not during the time afterwards. Hongjoong had never shed just one single tear for his brother, not even tears of joy.

But he would lie if he said that the day of his brother's death had left him completely without emotions. In fact, he was full of emotions, full of _new_ emotions that he couldn't yet understand. It was a tragic mixture of excitement, happiness and feeling at ease while at the same time experiencing a sensation of lust and something similar to anger. He'd felt like this ever since he'd seen his brother take his last breath, ever since his eyes had closed forever. While it was a beautiful feeling, it was trying to destroy Hongjoong, was trying to tear him apart and he didn't know how to stop it but that was okay because he didn't _want_ it to stop. Somehow it felt good, almost addictive.

"It's time."

Hongjoong's head jolted around, a few men had come into the room and he remembered their faces, remembered that they worked at the funeral parlor, but their names he couldn't recall. There was a loud wail coming from his mother, she begged them for just a little more time but her husband was holding her in his arms, whispered something in her ear to which she only responded with more tears and louder cries. But there was no resistance anymore, and Hongjoong was the last one to get up from the floor and leave the room. He noticed that he didn't like the smell in the building. Rather than a heavy odor of death, all he could smell was the penetrating and steril smell of sanitizer, maybe even detergent. Then he wondered if there had ever been a murder committed in this parlor without anyone realizing. And he smiled a little, suddenly the smell didn't bother him as much anymore. 

  
  


And soon their home was plunged into complete silence. Hongjoong had spent the first few days after the funeral in his bed, staring at the ceiling where only a few of his glow-in-the-dark stars had managed to survive. It was so silent that he could hear his own breath and at one point he believed to have heard his own heartbeat. It was fast, a little uneven. He was excited. It was the first time in a little over twelve years that he'd experienced this and he could say without doubt that it felt a hundred—no—thousand times better at an older age.

He looked next to him. An empty bed, neatly made bed sheets. That side of the room was clean, almost as though they were waiting for someone to come home and sit on the desk, play with the toys and lay in the bed. Hongjoong got up. He walked over to the other side and stopped in front of the desk. The reason why it seemed as though his brother would come through the door any moment was because everything still looked like he lived there. He'd always cleaned everything, had always organized everything. The mere thought of his brother coming back, or rather of his voice piercing through Hongjoong's ear again was sickening. He took the pencil cup and spread its contents on the desk, some of them fell onto the floor. Much better. His brother would never leave his desk in a state like this. Hongjoong let himself down on his brother's bed. There was something weird about sitting on the bed that belonged to a dead person, he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He bounced on the mattress, wondering if this one was softer than his own but they seemed to be just the same. He grabbed the blanket and threw it halfway from the bed, then he let his body sink into the mattress; now it seemed a little softer than his own. His brother's familiar smell still lingered in the air. He could hear the door open slowly but he didn't look up, he knew it was his mother who looked at him with swollen red eyes that were filled with tears, her hand pressed onto her lips. Hongjoong had believed that she'd already cried all her tears but he found that a mother's tears never dwindled. He didn't look at her but put an arm over his eyes, everything turned dark.

_It was no accident. It was you._

A faint smile on his lips, eyes dry. Sometimes he could still hear his brother's laughter in his head but it didn't bother Hongjoong. It was not loud, it was the first quiet memory of his brother that he'd sought to cherish for the rest of his life. It was the good memory he so wanted to have. 

But he'd ceased to feel the joy of this weird new emotion he had obtained through his brother's death. He'd revived it once for a very short time but it was not enough, it didn't reach its maximum state. That had to change in order for Hongjoong not to go crazy in this world filled with loud noises. Soon, soon he would feel it again...

  
  


_March 2019, present_

Spring, when every day it gets warmer and warmer and the layers of clothes slowly become less and less. Spring, the time for people to cautiously crawl out of their comfortable dark holes, let their hibernation come to an end, just so they can rediscover the joy of life and feel the thousands of butterflies swirling around inside their stomachs like crazy, letting themselves be poisoned by the sweet feeling of love and affection. And spring, the indication of a new beginning, a new opportunity to him, to Hongjoong, the creator of doom.

He looked up the tall building, big posters and signs stuck to the crumbling walls to distract from their many cracks and dirt smudges. A lovely building painted with white and brown colors, giving it a western look that Hongjoong was welcome to embrace. Soon the cherry trees around the campus would start to bloom and would mark the season of new life for most people while for Hongjoong it would be a time full of sweet darkness. He anticipated April. His heart was pounding faster whenever he thought about it.

He felt something brush against his shoulder, it was one of the many people passing him. Some scoffed, others muttered under their breaths because Hongjoong was standing in their way but he felt no inclination to move. He enjoyed watching the colorful arrangement of the most different kinds of people hurrying towards the entrance door, all of them pursuing the same destination like a shoal of fish and Hongjoong was no different. People—him included—could finally express themselves through fashion and weren't restricted to harsh dress codes and uniforms anymore. He could see lips painted with scarlet lipstick, colorful hair and stylish accessories. It felt like a fresh, deep breath. University was something different, Hongjoong was ready for it. He was ready to restart the cycle and this time there was no way he would let himself fail. He'd succeed, he could feel it in his bones and in his veins that were already throbbing from thirst and desire, from blood-drenched lust. He was longing for the destructive but addictive accumulation of unknown emotions that he'd felt after his brother's passing. 

He put a hand on his chest, could feel his heart pounding excitedly. There was a crooked smile on his face as his legs started carrying him towards the entrance, now going with the other fish and blending in with them completely until they became nothing but one indistinguishable, homogeneous cluster. He pulled out the little floor plan from his breast pocket and unfolded it, his eyes searching for the room he'd have to be in in a few minutes. 

"Excuse me?" A quiet voice behind him penetrated his ear but he didn't turn around, he didn't even realize he was being talked to. "Excuse me, with the blue hair?"

The man with the blue hair—that was Hongjoong. When he turned around he saw a young man with an awkward smile on his face looking straight at him. His hand was hovering above Hongjoong's shoulder, implying that he'd have tried to tap him if Hongjoong hadn't turned around. The shy hand quickly retrieved when Hongjoong looked at it, at the same time he let the floor plan disappear inside his breast pocket again. With a simple smile on his lips he stared at the boy quietly and took the awkward silence to examine his face. He thought the young man was beautiful, quite extraordinary even. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his cheek bones stood out, it aged him. But the one eye that was visible while the other was hidden behind his thick black hair that had fallen into his face was the eye of a scared deer. It made him look a lot younger and more innocent than he probably was. He was like a human paradox, being both too old and too young for his actual age. You could say he was exactly Hongjoong's type.

"Sorry, do you know how I get to room, uh," he looked down at the back of his left hand, a number was written on it with black ink, "room 118?"

Hongjoong didn't say a word, he just kept staring. He was still trying to figure this boy out, he wasn't done looking at him yet. He wondered if he'd look better when drawn with oil paints or with a simple coloured pencil? Which one would capture his beauty not only from the outside but also from the inside? Which one could turn him into the masterpiece he deserved to be? Was there even a way to get this mixture of emotions he was showing down on paper? Hongjoong wanted to draw him with an expression of shyness, of confusion, of fear. He could sense all these emotions in his face right now. He would make a series out of his drawings. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, the words that managed to come out of his mouth were nothing but lovely stutters. "Oh, I'm—I'm sorry, is this your first day as well?"

It was indeed. Just like him, Hongjoong had set foot into this university for the first time that day. His smile grew bigger, the boy's eyes wider. "No, it's not. You can find room 118 by just turning round the corner here and then you walk all the way to the back."

The boy's face was flooded with relief. There was a big sigh, he bowed his head a little and there even was something similar to a smile. It didn't suit him well. He said thank you twice before he followed the directions that he'd been given. Hongjoong's eyes lingered on him until he disappeared behind the corner, his aura faded and Hongjoong was left behind with a pleasant feeling as though he'd really done something good. He turned around, the little floor plan in his pocket was of no use anymore. Unlike his new friend, Hongjoong knew where he had to go. Room 117 was right next to room one-one-eight, and it was nowhere near to what Hongjoong had told the poor boy. As he walked down the corridor he wondered how his deer-eyed friend would react when he realized that he was actually very far from his destination. Would he internally cuss Hongjoong out? Maybe, _probably_. Curiosity almost made Hongjoong turn around and follow his friend but he didn't. Fantasising about his different reactions was a lot better anyways. There was no reason for Hongjoong's unnecessary move besides knowing in which utterly uncomfortable situation he'd put the boy. He'd looked like he'd already gathered all his courage to ask Hongjoong for the way but now he'd have to ask again! Maybe he'd just give up, go home and forget about university. Good for him. Hongjoong imagined how beads of perspiration formed on his temples, how his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and up and down from gulping way too often. He imagined hearing his quiet stutters again but most of all Hongjoong couldn't wait to bump into him during lunch time or pass him in the hallway. He couldn't wait to see his pitch black eyes glance at him angrily, but only slightly because he feared confrontation. And they would see each other again and again and it would be uncomfortable and awkward. Awkwardness was one of the emotions that Hongjoong enjoyed experiencing the most. It was a feeling that was difficult to describe and it made people do the weirdest things just to escape this feeling and the uncomfortable situation they'd been put in against their will. For Hongjoong it was a kind of entertainment that was difficult to attain otherwise. 

And then there it was, the door to room 117, the place that would eventually decide about Hongjoong's fate, about his future life. It wasn't a career in economics that he was talking about, the lectures were nothing but a tool for him to expose himself to new people—to prospective victims. He possessed not the slightest interest in economics, managing a business or working in an office. He knew very well what career path he wanted and he'd already chosen it years ago. But sometimes people had to go lengths to accomplish their goals and Hongjoong wanted to make it as amusing and enjoyable as he could. He'd figured that business and economics brought together a wide range of people. There were those truly interested in the subject, those aiming high and shooting for the moon. You had the ones seeking a stable career in a promising industry. And last but not least you had the ones who saw it as their last resort. Those people were the ones to look out for. They were people who were afraid of risking something and losing everything even though they had absolutely nothing at all to lose in their lives. For them, being an office worker was apparently all they could do. It was a career that they maybe were forced to pursuit or it was the only way for them to stay inside their comfort zone because they could lead a predictable and colourless life with a monotonous routine that would eventually push them into a dark hole full of depression, a hole without ladder—but with Hongjoong's hand reaching out for them. Maybe Hongjoong saw himself as something like a saviour, probably even more than that. 

And oddly enough, he noticed _him_ right away when he entered the lecture hall. 

He didn't particularly stand out, not physically at least, no. With his straight, black hair he looked like 90 percent of the other students in the room, their faces already hidden behind their laptops or dug into their papers and books which made them all look the same—which was physically unappealing and impossible to tell apart. But still, this one boy somehow managed to catch Hongjoong's eyes but he had yet to figure out why. His face was hidden from Hongjoong's view, eyes glued to the window next to him and his chin was resting on his palm. He didn't want to be there, in this room, on that very chair, that was Hongjoong's first impression of him. Even though there was an empty seat next to the mysterious boy, Hongjoong chose not to take it. Instead he walked all the way to the other end and sat down closest to the wall and automatically the furthest he could possibly get away from him. He took off his bag and let himself down on the seat, eyes not leaving the other's back for just a split second.

The boy's choice of seat told a lot about him. He sat neither at the front nor at the back but rather in the middle but the most important aspect about it was that he sat right next to the window. It made him look like every introverted anime boy with a big mysterious secret. It made Hongjoong smile, just because it was such an utter cliche and he liked that. The boy looked dreamy, completely absent minded and Hongjoong couldn't even see his face. He wondered what he was looking at. Was he waiting for something? Another career opportunity maybe? Or was he observing the birds that were dancing with each other like young lovers which made him jealous? Wasn't that such a sweet thing, being jealous of innocent birds? Hongjoong glanced out of the window for a good second to search for what the young man might've been looking at. There was a faint reflection of his face in the glass but it was so vague that Hongjoong couldn't even make out most of his features. But maybe the boy was looking at that, was looking at himself, searching for answers that he didn't even know the questions to. But no matter what it was that he was staring at, he seemed shy. He was probably bad at socialising, he wanted to exchange as few words as possible with others. That's why he'd chosen to sit there, that's why he'd placed his backpack on the chair next to him like a bullied kid on the school bus. He didn't want anyone to sit down there. 

Just as much as there was a reason for the boy to sit down at the window, there was a reason for Hongjoong to get away from him as far as he could possibly get. He didn't want to shove himself into the other's face as it would only result in scaring him off like those little birds outside. What Hongjoong needed was time and he was willing to take things as slowly as he needed to in order for him to succeed. Last time he'd tried this whole plan he'd become too impatient, had started to act without caution. He had rushed things and had lost his temper which eventually resulted in his failure. This time he wouldn't accept failing. He felt like this was his last chance, he couldn't fuck this up. So a slow approach was the key. Time, and patience was needed.

Minutes passed, more people got into the room but not once did the boy look away from the window. It was so interesting to watch him that Hongjoong believed he'd found what he was looking for. If he could just look at his face once.

"Hey!"

Hongjoong's eyes jerked, the boy finally looked away from the window. Both of them were looking at the figure that had appeared next to the chair with the backpack on. It was a tall man and Hongjoong recognised him immediately. Warm smile, hair dyed light brown and slicked back, they used to be curly in High School. Mingi's sight made Hongjoong sink into the chair, the fact that he was talking to his person of interest felt like a punch in his face. What if they were friends? Best buddies, homies. Bros. _Lovers?_ Like last time, was it going to be like last time in High School? Was there a curse on Hongjoong or was the tall one an angel sent to stop Hongjoong and his evil plan like he was the villain of a movie? Mingi seemed to have forgotten that this was Hongjoong's movie, he was the protagonist. He was the main character, the antagonist, the side role, the love interest. He could decide. 

A quiet _Oh_ left the lips of his black-haired friend. There was a grain of disappointment in his voice but it was mostly faked friendliness mixed with shyness. A pinch of annoyance? A wonderful recipe. They didn't know each other well, that's what that it seemed like and even if they did, his friend didn’t seem to like Mingi. Hongjoong leaned back in his chair and elevated his eyebrows when he saw how Mingi dared to remove the backpack from the chair just so he could sit down. He'd always been like that, he tended to stick his nose into other people's business without asking. He was a pain in the ass and a tall one at that. 

They exchanged a few words and Hongjoong was finally able to get a glimpse of this pretty face that was facing Mingi. He was such a beautiful boy that the memory of Hongjoong's deer-eyed friend from before vanished into thin air. Expressionless eyes, _empty_ eyes, a numb face with a forced smile that was so subtle one might need a microscope to see it. Thin, bony hands with veins so blue you might think his blood was royal. He looked dead without even being it.

It might as well have been perfection.

Hongjoong felt a rush of excitement, a torturing feeling of hunger. It was like this boy was sent to him by some great forces, he looked like a sacrifice presented on a silver platter. It felt untrue. He couldn't stop looking at him, staring at him, studying his face like he'd study a painting in an art museum. He had no distinct features, his face looked soft like a marshmallow but Hongjoong would make him look distinct. He would make him look like one in a billion and Hongjoong would be celebrated as his creator.

But there were scrutinising eyes resting on Hongjoong. He turned his head to look at the person next to his muse. _Hello, Mingi._ The stern look on Mingi's face was amusing, he was probably the last person Hongjoong wanted to have in his course but there was nothing he could do about it yet. Hongjoong put on the friendliest smile he could come up with, waved his little hand and mouthed a welcoming hello. Mingi's lips formed a thin line, he nodded. There was nothing friendly about him and he liked to show that. Little did he know that Hongjoong didn't care. When Mingi turned around again Hongjoong's smile faded. Mingi wouldn't be a problem, he had never been a real one. He maybe was tall but he couldn't raise his hand, let alone his voice. He was a simple hurdle that Hongjoong was sure to overcome, no matter if Mingi and the boy in interest were friends or not.

No matter who or what blocked his way, Hongjoong would make sure to paint his new muse. He would paint him like he'd never painted anything else before. With his help he'd make his dream come true, he'd get drunk in the feelings that his brother's death once provided him with. 

He would paint him dead. 

  
  
  



	2. Composition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ♡ I didn't expect writing this chapter would take so long but here it finally is! I wanna say a big thank you to everyone reading, so far I've gotten such a good feedback for this story, I really didn't expect that and I was quite worried at first but I'm super happy and super hyped about continuing to write this story!
> 
> Before you go and have fun with the chapter, here are the trigger warnings!
> 
> **TW: mentions death, murder & animal abuse**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I would like to share this beautiful edit that my gorgeous friend [ibookahyun](https://twitter.com/ibookahyun) made for this story!
> 
> You're amazing and I love you to the moon and back! Thank you for this awesome edit ♡

**‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾** 𝕳𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 **☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙**

  
  


**✧ 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ✧**

She was a new model, a little older than him and a little taller. She had the most beautiful lips he'd ever seen in his entire life. He loved full lips, loved it when they were painted with a dark red that made them look like they were covered in coughed-up blood. He'd dubbed her Snowwhite. Her hair wasn't exactly pitch black but it was thick and curly, the tips looks dry and in urgent need of a good trimming and when the sun shone at her from behind, her hair even looked a little red, almost like it was glowing. It was a beautiful contrast to her porcelain-like skin that made her already look like a living painting. She looked unreal, almost like a ghost. It was outstanding. 

A few days ago she'd stopped by Hongjoong's atelier and enquired about a drawing session, or well, about how much money she'd get sitting for him. It was obvious that the sole reason for her coming to his studio was the desperate need of banknotes. She had stood in the door frame like a wounded deer, had looked miserable despite being so immensely beautiful. It almost seemed a little tragic. It was as though her inner voice screamed for protection and unconditional love but Hongjoong could in no way provide her with any of that. Still, he loved seeing her like that. Her head was facing the floor, not once had she looked the painter directly in the eyes and it just made him like her more. Her shame was tangible. With a paintbrush between his fingers like he was holding a cigarette, Hongjoong told her that the money depended on her experience as a model and the type of session, as well as its duration. He'd put on quite a disinterested face even though he was very much intrigued by her. If his Snowwhite had been a little smarter she could've asked for almost any amount of money and Hongjoong would've been pleased to give it to her. Money meant nothing to him when it came to his paintings and he wanted her in his sketchbook. In a lovely quiet voice she'd told him that she'd sat for a few other artists before, also in front of a bigger audience but she didn't have any formal training. She was good at standing still, she said, even while doing more difficult poses. And then, for the first time she'd lifted her head a little, batted her eyelashes like a young butterfly, though she didn't look at him directly, and told him that she was _okay with nude sessions_. She almost made it sound like Hongjoong would've only wanted to draw her if she was naked and it disappointed him a little if he was honest. But in a world like the one they lived in, was she even to blame? She had all the rights to assume that men were only interested in her body and not in the skills that she _didn't even possess._ Her little statement had almost ruined it for the painter, almost, but the way she avoided his glance, show she rubbed her arm to comfort her in this awkward situation seemed so pure to him that it would've been too much of a shame to just let her go.

He really didn't plan on drawing her naked, in fact, he intended to shift his focus on drawing cloth, he wanted to study folds, different thicknesses of fabrics—but nude sessions just simply paid the most. That's what he'd told her shamelessly and she even said she knew that. Oh, how _bold_ she was. Hongjoong laughed inwardly. In the end, they agreed on a nude session after Hongjoong had offered her a little more money than he'd usually give, even though she lacked experience. He didn't want to judge too early and he found her beautiful, she was an interesting individual. It would be a beautiful session and after seeing how a tiny spark lit up in her eyes when she heard the sum—it was also the only time she'd actually looked directly at the painter—Hongjoong knew that the money would be worth it. She'd asked to be drawn as soon as possible and so they agreed on a date, phone numbers were exchanged and off she went, little Snowwhite. That night Hongjoong had dreamt about her lips. He'd dreamt about how he bit them, blood cascaded over the corners of her mouth and her chin, dripping down to the floor. He felt his throat tighten, it was hard to breathe and he knew he'd been poisoned by a single bite of her lips. It was his very own version of the tale of Snowwhite. 

  
  
  


It was just after lunch time when she came back to his studio again, this time to be drawn. Besides a shy greeting she didn't say anything to the painter and he also didn't say anything to her, not even when his glance followed her when she walked across the room and slowly got undressed. Suddenly she behaved like she wasn't ashamed of being naked in front of a stranger anymore and it kind of disappointed Hongjoong. He wondered where this had come from. He scratched the corner of his eye with his ring finger as he watched her unbutton her long flower-print dress. She looked vintage and it suited her a lot. Her body was beautiful, just as he'd expected it to be. It was a very feminine figure, she wasn't shaved, and somehow her whole appearance teleported them back to the 1950s where she'd be a famous actress, a femme fatale loved by the men and envied by the women. She would play in those subliminally erotic movies that never had a happy ending, just like she wouldn't have one in real life. An overdose—sleeping pills. The only man she had ever wanted was also the only man in the world that did not want her back, he was her death warrant. The mere thought of another woman sucking on his lips killed her before the effects of the pills could. The next morning she would be found in the armchair in her apartment, her body already cold and stiff, more bluish and green than porcelain-like. Her lifeless face would be printed on the front pages of every newspaper, not just the local ones. Everyone would forget about her until a few years later when a documentary about her tragic life would be filmed, then a selection of her best movies would be shown on TV and soon her posters could be found in every teenager's room like she was some kind of goddess to worship. Yes, that was her, Snowwhite, his model for today.

You could say that inventing stories for his sitters was a hobby of his. It was a way for him to fuel his inspiration, to make his drawings look genuine and full of emotions because was there anything more criminal than a boring drawing? Most of the time those stories would come to his mind shortly after seeing his model for the first time, sometimes it took a little longer and occasionally there were models to which he could think of no backstory. He always refused to draw those models because what was the point of drawing something if it didn't have a story to tell? He imagined himself as an old man who'd tell everyone that the woman in his painting had been a famous actress that tragically died of an overdose because the man she loved had rejected her. Didn't that sound a lot more intriguing than saying she was just an ordinary girl short of money but hey, _she was okay with nude sessions._ Hongjoong gagged inwardly. He proceeded to put aside his easel, got his paper and prepared his materials. He took his little stool and placed it in front of the little area with the white pedestal he'd usually let his models stand on. 

"I would like to do some quick sketches to warm up." He sat down on the stool and crossed his legs, his sketch pad was resting on his lap while he twisted his charcoal stick between his thumb and pointer finger, getting the black material all over his skin. Little Snowwhite got onto the pedestal, her nervous hands were playing with the skin on her tummy as she waited for more instructions. Hongjoong took his phone and set a timer. "I'll do two minute sketches first, I'll tell you when to change poses. You may begin."

She nodded but stood there quietly and unmoved for about ten seconds and Hongjoong was staring back at her with his hand hovering above the blank paper, waiting for her to begin. He wasn't annoyed by her, not at all. Her presence was quite pleasing to him, actually. He didn't even have to tell her beforehand to be quiet since she generally spoke as little as possible. And Hongjoong liked shy people, we'd already established that, right? So he gave her as much time as she needed to get loose and after a few more seconds she eventually started moving. She began with some simple poses but soon got a little more experimental and she was right, she really was good at keeping still, even when she went over to more difficult poses. If you compared the first drawings Hongjoong did of her with the last ones, it was like watching a flower blossom in time lapse. She completely unfolded her charm like a flower its petals. It was the charm of the movie star she'd been in her previous life. She'd been worth drawing, no doubt.

When Hongjoong stopped the timer, she turned to him, her eyes looked enquiring, almost as though she was waiting for some kind of validation or compliment. Hongjoong didn't give her any of that.

"Let's take a break. Water or coffee?" He closed the sketch pad and got up from his stool.

"Do you have tea?"

He nodded. "With or without sugar?"

"With. Two cubes." Of _course._

Snowwhite got off the pedestal and wrapped her body in the silken dressing gown that Hongjoong had offered her. The water was cooking and he prepared the cups and tea. Two cubes of sugar for her, none for him. He saw how she shyly opened his sketch pad a little to take a peek at the quick drawings and there was a smile on her face, a satisfied one, but she didn't say anything. Hongjoong then handed her the tea, she offered him a thankful smile and nodded and then they sat down and waited for the tea to cool off a little. Hongjoong found himself being a little curious about her. She'd never told him her name though it had popped up when he added her to his Kakao Talk. He wondered if she was in university just like him, maybe she already had a job that didn't pay her enough. She seemed like a secretive young woman and Hongjoong enjoyed that. It made him actually want to speak to her.

"Tell me," _Snowwhite,_ "why do you so desperately need money?"

She looked surprised as though she hadn't been obvious about it. Hongjoong didn't expect to get an answer to his question, he actually just asked to surprise her, but she actually put down the little porcelain cup, recovered from her little shock and spoke carefully.

"Medical bills. My mother had an accident."

Hongjoong elevated his right eyebrow. _An accident!_ Insert a dramatic gasp _._ "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she's not too badly hurt."

Rather than a wish, the last sentence he'd spoken sounded more like a question, almost like an enquiry for her to elaborate. At least he'd always been good at lying, almost like he was born with it.

"She fell down the stairs."

His eyes shot up, met hers and he felt like he was about to choke on his own spit. His fingers wrapped around the hot cup so tightly that he feared he'd break it. He could feel goosebumps spread all over his body and a rush of emotions rinsed through him like a goddamn electric shock. Snippets from past memories flashed before his eyes, there was a slight sense of arousal, of anger—of satisfaction. He felt a little dizzy.

But her mother was _alive._

"Finish up your tea." He quickly got up from his chair and abandoned his unfinished tea. He didn't feel thirsty anymore, even though his throat was as dry as a desert. There was nothing else he wished to say regarding her poor mother, their conversation was over. Instead, he took one of the chairs at the table and carried it to the drawing area, shifted it slightly so it wouldn't face him directly when drawing. He needed a natural pose. Snowwhite came up to him shortly after, she'd already taken off the robe again and Hongjoong motioned to the chair. "I want you to sit down, I have a particular pose in mind."

She sad down timidly and suddenly looked stiff but not in the Hongjoong needed her to be. _God,_ why did he suddenly feel such resentment for her? It was like someone had switched off her charm with a single flick. He felt like he had suddenly become the man she'd adored in her past life, the man that so very much disliked her. The atmosphere in the studio was weird, not the good weird, though, and his good mood had vanished not only because her mother had fallen down the stairs with her fragile old body but because she'd also survived and Hongjoong indirectly helped her pay for her recovery.

_Brother, how are you?_

But he wanted to _draw_ her. He wanted to feel at least a tiny rush of his so beloved drug. 

"Loosen up, just try to relax all of your muscles as though you're deeply asleep." Heh, yeah, _asleep._ Good description, Hongjoong imaginatively patted his own back. He took up his sketch pad as he watched her try to adjust her body. He couldn't help but sigh, even though that might've intimidated her even more but suddenly it really showed how unprofessional she was. "No, no. Not like that. Get loose."

There was no point, was there? She just couldn't do it, something about this whole image bothered him. It didn't seem real, it seemed too staged. It _was_ staged but it didn't have to be obvious. When Hongjoong scrutinised her, he realized what was wrong. He didn't want her to be naked. His beautiful actress wouldn't have died completely naked but rather in a beautiful night gown. For a second he thought about the little robe from earlier but it wasn't enough, he needed something more dramatic. Then he nodded to himself. "Get up."

She got up quietly, seemed like she'd lost all her confidence and though Hongjoong usually loved that kind of behaviour, he couldn't possibly need it when trying to get a perfect drawing done. He saw her wrap her arms around her waist, almost like she was cold, her shoulders slumped—did she feel bad? Hongjoong almost pitied her. But instead of telling her encouraging words, he just walked over to his windows with the long, thick curtains. Their beautiful pale orange color and shiny material would make Snowwhite look like an actual Disney princess. A _dead_ Disney princess. Feeling her curious gaze on his back, Hongjoong carefully tore down one of the thick curtains and came back to her. It looked perfect on her, almost like it was made for her when he wrapped the fabric around her body like a beautiful dress or gown. She looked fancy, even though it was just a simple curtain. She looked like she wanted to say something, her confused expression implied it, but she kept her mouth shut and Hongjoong slowly began liking her again.

"Now, sit down again."

The actress— _Snowwhite_ did as she was told and carefully let herself down on the chair again. 

"Can I touch you?"

"Where?"

He snorted, couldn't help it. "Your arms. Just your arms and legs. I want to help you get the pose right."

She then nodded, her cheeks took on a beautiful shade of red and Hongjoong loved how she trusted him. He carefully wrapped his hands around her tiny shoulders and pressed her against the back of the chair. One arm hanging limply from her side and the other resting on her lap, he let her head fall to the side and rested it on her shoulder so her beautiful, soft neck would be exposed to him more. He spread out one leg and flexed the other, lastly he adjusted the thick fabric of the curtain so it would look more like a dress or at least an expensive blanket. He told her to keep her eyes open and look out of the window next to her.

When he stepped back to observe his creation, he felt a surge of inspiration rinse through his body. The way he'd made her look—it almost seemed too real. She looked so lifeless that he would've wished for nothing more than to walk over to her and take her dead body into his arms, hug her tightly and caress her beautiful hair while he'd cry some fake tears and mourn for his poor, poor actress. What a cruel, tragic ending. She was indeed perfect.

He took up his sketch pad and began drawing again. He would've loved to capture his beautiful actress in an oil painting but instead he went for pastels and colored pencils, some of his favorite media. Like that he could paint her lifeless body in just a few hours instead of a few months—and she would turn out absolutely gorgeous. He went for paler tones, drew her skin with purples and pinks and greens but the most beautiful feature were her lips drawn with the strongest red he could find. Even in his drawing they stood out the most, caught your eyes immediately and left you curious about their taste. Would they be sweet or would they taste like iron? It was up to everyone's imagination but Hongjoong, he imagined them to taste like cherries.

He kept observing his drawing after finishing it while Snowwhite got dressed. He liked it, he liked it a lot. He felt like he'd captured the tragic life of an actress from birth to death, every single emotion she'd experienced in her short life was visible in this one drawing. It was beautiful, some might even call it a masterpiece and while it provided Hongjoong with _something_ , it still wasn't enough. It wasn't perfect to him, didn't satisfy him enough. There was not the slightest arousal, no excitement. It was a disappointment once again and the thing is, it wasn't even Snowwhite's fault. No one was to blame, really.

Hongjoong heard the door open behind him, both his and Snowwhite's heads turned around to the entrance where a blonde male stood in the door frame. There was a playful smile on his lips, he raised his eyebrow at the sight of Snowwhite—she was already dressed.

"I didn't expect you to be here so soon." Hongjoong said as he finally brought himself to get up from his stool. He felt miserable. He put away the drawing and then helped Snowwhite into her coat like the goddamn gentleman he was. She didn't say thank you but she nodded, Hongjoong was grateful for that. He then walked over to his bag that he'd put next to the little table with his unfinished and already cold tea. He'd prepared the little envelope with the money in advance but before he gave it to Snowwhite, he actually added a few more banknotes. She deserved it, even though the painting didn't turn out the way Hongjoong had hoped for. He'd be lying if he said he'd expected it to turn out to be the masterpiece he so desperately longed for, the failure was nothing new to him. He held the envelope out to his little princess and she immediately took it, felt it a little and then she bowed and shoved it into her bag.

"Do you not want to count the money?" Hongjoong asked but she shook her head.

"I trust you."

There was a faint smile on her lips, had she already fallen for the painter? "You shouldn't trust anyone, honey. Especially not me."

But even though she nodded this time, the envelope still remained in her bag silently and unopened. Hongjoong would've loved to see her open it, would've loved to study the money-hungry expression on her face, knowing that she could use this money for paying the damn medical bills. How good for her and her mother. When she left his atelier, Hongjoong wondered if he'd ever see her again, if she'd come back, but he had absolutely no desire to draw her again.

"She's adorable." Finally, his head turned into the direction of the other man. He was undressing. 

Hongjoong just shrugged as he took the curtain and walked over to the big window. "She was perfect, I guess. Can you give me a hand?"

His friend walked over to him naked, the exposure was nothing new to him. He helped with the curtain and then, while standing quite close to the painter, he looked at him with a cocky smile on his face. "More perfect than I am?"

Hongjoong shrugged again. "I'm not sure, maybe?"

He'd only know if both of them posed next to each other, dead.

"There's graphite on your face." He smiled, Hongjoong just sighed.

"It's not graphite, dumbass." He tried brushing it away with the back of his hand as though he cared. In the end, his friend wiped it off his cheek with his beautiful veiny hand.

His friend then walked over to the drawing area, positioned himself on the floor, facing the painter and unlike Snowwhite, he looked quite professional. It wasn't his first session after all. Hongjoong could say without a doubt that his blonde friend was the one who filled up the most pages in his sketchbooks. He could draw him by heart, knew every mole and every scar on his beautiful body. He'd often thought about making _him_ the chosen one, but his personality just didn't match with what Hongjoong was looking for. He needed someone shy and without the slightest hint of self-esteem but his friend was the complete opposite. He was the most confident person Hongjoong knew aside from himself.

"How's it going with your new little muse, hm?"

Hongjoong sighed and looked up from his sketch pad. "Yeosang, honey. I thought we've spoken about talking during sessions, haven't we?"

There was nothing but a quiet nod, no apology. He knew that sometimes Yeosang did this on purpose to mess with Hongjoong but he couldn't really get mad at him when there was this charming smile on his face, that smile that made him look like this picture book prince. Maybe in some universe he and Snowwhite lived together in a castle, seemingly being the most beautiful couple in the kingdom. Let's just ignore the fact that Yeosang liked sucking dick. And while Hongjoong tried drawing him like the prince he deserved to be, the faint feeling of dissatisfaction still lingered within him.

  
  
  


Hongjoong pushed the straw through the little hole with utmost caution. He didn't want to stab his milk after all. It was strawberry flavored, his favorite. He turned around at the vending machine, almost bumping into someone, for a short moment he feared for his milk's life. When he looked up, he was greeted with the eyes of a deer. He couldn't hide the little smile that crept up on his face, couldn't hide the fact that this coincidental situation he'd call _faith_ was incredibly amusing to him. What a welcoming surprise. He enjoyed seeing how the other's eyes grew larger with realization, how he stumbled back a little. Though he was a bit taller than Hongjoong, it didn't seem like it at all. Hongjoong felt like a giant standing in front of him.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" Hongjoong said, he was having too much fun right now to be scolding himself for not being able to stop grinning so obnoxiously. The other one quickly shook his head, he seemed so nervous that one might think Hongjoong was holding him at gunpoint. It made him wonder what it would be like to paint him while pressing the muzzle of a gun to his forehead. Would there be tears in his eyes? Would he pee his pants? Would he be trembling while begging for mercy? Hongjoong quickly tried to dismiss those thoughts, those hungry, intriguing thoughts that let him feel a tingling sensation down _there_. 

"No, uhm, it's all good." His voice was shaking, how cute.

"You sure?" Hongjoong's grin grew even wider, he looked like a predator ready to catch is prey. "Then why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

His little deer didn't answer but you could see him gulp, his mouth stood open a little, he was probably trying to find a way out of this situation and without getting told false directions again. Then he shyly pointed at the vending machine behind Hongjoong. "Can I, uh—"

"Oh!" Hongjoong looked over his shoulder. "Sure, sure. You know what, what drink do you want? My treat."

"No! It's fine! I'll...I'll pay for it." Wow, he _really_ had the guts to talk back?

Hongjoong smiled, he was a little upset to be honest, and he didn't move an inch. "As your _senior_ it's just right for me to get you something. So, tell me. What drink do you want? Go on."

There was a moment of awkward silence, Hongjoong was enjoying it thoroughly. The deer's black eyes switched between Hongjoong and the vending machine, he was torn between the two options he had. Accept or decline. It was like a video game, his decision could change his fate. Lowkey Hongjoong wished for his deer to decline, just so he could make this situation even more awkward for him.

"Okay." _What a pity_. "I'd like...a Sprite."

"Sweet." Hongjoong turned around and put in the coins. He pressed _one_ and _six_ on the keypad, the can fell from the coil and Hongjoong reached down to retrieve it. There was a hissing sound when he opened it and then he held it up to the other's face. Two shaky hands grabbed the can, the deer bowed and he even thanked him _verbally._ Wow. His deer was probably confused why Hongjoong had behaved so awkwardly when they first met since he was so kind to him now. He couldn't decide what to think of him, he certainly found him weird but maybe it was a good weird? Maybe, no, probably he was already crushing on Hongjoong.

"Drink." Hongjoong smiled.

"Huh?"

"I said, drink."

His new friend nodded quickly and took a sip, a big sip, but Hongjoong wasn't satisfied. He tilted his head a little, raised his eyebrows and nodded at the can, his voice was intimidating. "You should drink up."

Though you could see the confusion in the other's eyes, he did what his senior told him. He swallowed every single drop that came out of the can until there was nothing left. His eyes were glued to Hongjoong, he looked scared but, _sweetheart_ , there was nothing to fear. Yet. Hongjoong just liked messing around, he was joking.

After he'd emptied the can, he ran the back of his hand across his lips to dry them. Hongjoong took the empty can and threw it away, he brushed through the other's hair, ran his fingers across his cheek softly. "Well done. Goodbye."

He winked, then he turned around and left his deer alone in the wilderness of the school corridors. Hongjoong wasn't quite sure if he'd imagined it, but he thought he'd heard him say goodbye to him as well. He giggled at himself. Something about messing with that boy just felt so good, almost rewarding. For a second he wondered what it would be like choosing him as his new muse, but something just didn't sit right with him. It didn't feel genuine and that was already enough for Hongjoong to refuse him as his model. Instead, he had someone much better. Someone who was just perfect.

Seonghwa was his name, Park Seonghwa. It was the name of the shy boy in his economics class, the one sitting by the window, always observing the lovely birds with his dreamy eyes while batting his long lashes like a child. It was the name of his new muse, his inspiration. With him, Hongjoong was sure he'd be able to fulfill his dream of creating the perfect masterpiece. He had spent the whole first week observing his beautiful muse while keeping himself at a good distance. His plan required time and thorough organisation and before he could start he had to make sure everything was in place and would work out just fine. Otherwise things would go up in flames like last time and Hongjoong just knew that he wouldnit get away with it _again._

Maybe it was time for him to _explain._

During the 20 years of his life, Hongjoong had experienced quite a great deal of death. He remembered the passing of his grandpa when he was ten, it was nothing too tragic, Hongjoong had never really liked him that much, mostly because whenever he talked all he did was complain about things and it was annoying. A short while after he died, his grandma passed away and he remembered his mum telling him and his brother that she'd died of a broken heart. He didn't believe it because granny never really seemed to like her husband, let alone love him. But he still had in mind the picture of his younger brother crying tears and snot for his poor grandma, he was so moved and then there was Hongjoong, not knowing his grandmother's real cause of death to this day. It would remain a mystery forever.

But there was also Barnacle Boy's tragic death, it was his brother's pet turtle. Actually he'd wished for a dog, a golden retriever, but instead what he'd got was a cute red-eared slider. His original name was Scuba, it was the name given by its original owner, the daughter of their mother's friend who was preparing to study abroad in England. But his brother renamed him Barnacle Boy. Hongjoong had never felt any resentment towards the turtle, he'd actually really liked him (he didn't talk), but somehow one day Hongjoong got curious about what a turtle looked like without its shell. Only after it died on him did he find out that they actually _couldn't_ survive without their little house and so Hongjoong took him and placed him in the middle of the street and soon the official cause of death was to be: run over by car. His brother's loud screams when he discovered his murdered friend were unbearable but Hongjoong saw it as a sort of punishment since he really hadn't planned for things to turn out like this. It was some sort of absolution. For almost three months after the tragic loss of Barnacle Boy, his brother would always scream _murderer!_ at any car driving by their house when they were playing outside. One day, he'd said, he would catch the culprit and would make him pay for his horrible deeds. 

It goes without saying that the real culprit never was found and since the turtle's tragic death had left such an open wound in his brother's heart, their parents swore to never let any kind of pet into their house again. Maybe they should've. Maybe that would have saved their poor son's life. 

But neither his grandparents' deaths nor that of Barnacle Boy triggered this _feeling_ inside Hongjoong. They'd left him cold. Maybe he'd felt a little bad for the turtle but that was all there was. But his brother's death almost five years ago was different. 

When he saw his young, limp body in that pool of blood so peacefully it felt so relieving, like someone had taken a huge burden off his shoulders. Well, he'd taken it off himself...but the sight of his brother, the odour of his blood intoxicated Hongjoong's lungs, filled them with ecstasy. He could feel his whole body vibrating, there was nothing but utter silence. It was so quiet that he even believed to have heard his own blood circulate in his body and his organs working. It was almost like a melody, like a song solely written for Hongjoong and for days this song would be stuck in his head, it was on repeat twentyfour hours a day until he fully knew the lyrics to it by heart. It was a great song. It was like being high non-stop, was better than porn, than sex. He knew that, even if he still was a virgin at that time. You could say that his third eye had opened, he'd been pulled into another dimension, a parallel universe where everything was silent, you could only hear him hum the text of the song. It was his awakening, felt like speaking to some sort of god.

And then it disappeared. 

Slowly but surely he began to forget the text to the song, couldn't hum its melody anymore. That was when he took up a pen and tried to write down everything he still remembered but he'd ended up crumpling up dozens of blank papers, had thrown them into the trash or out of the window. It was all useless and he was enraged. The more he'd tried to remember the song and the feeling it had once provided him with, the further away he drifted from it. Soon the song was lost in space, lost somewhere in that other dimension while Hongjoong was back to reality and he hated it. He'd been left behind with an unquenchable thirst, he'd believed this to be what withdrawal would feel like and it was unbearable. He'd felt like all his energy had been sucked out of his veins, he'd spent countless nights without closing just one eye. Sometimes he even heard his brother's screams, it sounded like he was trying to mock his hyung, he was messing with him! There were nights in which he started up from his sleep because he'd feared his brother was still alive. Hongjoong knew he had to do something about this. He'd cursed himself for not having taken a picture of his brother's corpse, for not having preserved it somehow. He'd started to seek death wherever he could but even attending funerals of people he barely or didn't even know was useless. There was nothing he'd gotten from that, didn't get one ounce of his drug. He believed that this feeling only came from people he was very close to, but no one else in his family had died after his brother had gone.

Oh, he had thought about killing his parents. At least he'd thought about killing his mother because he really was okay with his dad staying alive. Especially after their divorce and after Hongjoong was forced to live alone with his mother, the urge of wanting her to disappear had grown stronger and stronger everyday. But he didn't seem to be able to come up with the perfect plan. He also didn't _know_ how to plan a goddamn murder because his brother's death hadn't been premeditated. It had rather been coincidental. Hongjoong didn't want to say it was an accident because that sounded like Hongjoong was not to blame but he surely and without doubt was responsible for it. He'd never been required to come up with a killer plan. He'd thought about giving his mother pills and then blaming it on depression, he'd even considered just blatantly stabbing or strangling her and then making his father responsible for it but he just didn't want that. He'd spent quite a long time trying to figure out how to kill his mum but she was still alive to this day.

And Hongjoong had almost lost his mind.

That was when he started painting like a madman. Strokes here, strokes there, he painted everything, everywhere and non-stop. He'd attended every drawing lesson he could, his mother had called it "coping" and it helped, it really helped. It wasn't ideal but it did something. It didn't spark a fire but at least a little flame inside him that grew together with his skills and soon he'd come to a realization. What if he tried drawing his brother? What if he managed to recreate his brother's last moment with his broken bones and his open wounds through a painting, enabling Hongjoong to look at it whenever and as often as he wanted? Maybe he would be able to obtain the same feeling from when he'd actually seen him dead in real life by just looking at the painting? Somehow Hongjoong was very confident about this possibly working. But the only problem was that the picture of his brother lying in his own pool of blood had started to fade. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces. It didn't matter how good Hongjoong was at drawing, he'd never managed to replicate that picture in his head perfectly. He knew that he _could_ do it if he had his brother right in front of him, turning it into a life drawing session. Or, well, a _death_ drawing session. But as much as he'd tried, Hongjoong was never satisfied with the paintings he created. 

But he couldn't let go of the idea of a painting that could get him high like his brother's death once did. And so he knew he had to do it once again. Just one more time he had to find someone he could grow attached to and then take that person's life so he would be able to create the perfect painting, a painting better than a simple photo. It was the only way for Hongjoong to survive and all he needed was a perfect muse. It couldn't be just anyone, it had to be someone similar to his brother, someone obnoxiously normal and easy to manipulate. It had to be a seemingly quiet person that would slowly get louder and louder. And then, with a glass full of poison, a bullet through the heart or a noose tied around the neck, Hongjoong would paint the lifeless body of his muse and whenever he felt like he was slowly coming down from his high, all he had to do is glance at the painting and feel his drug kicking in again.

It was perfect. The perfect plan. Seonghwa would help him fulfill his dream.

If you looked at the plan like it was a painting, the next thing he'd have to think about after choosing his model was the composition of the painting. Messing up something so crucial could lead to the painting ending up looking weird, maybe even ruining it completely and to the extent where Hongjoong would have to start over again and he really didn't have time for that. He felt like Seonghwa really was his last chance. He'd had quite a few of them already and all of them he missed because of poor planning. It would be different this time. The composition was like the skeleton of his plan, its blueprint. It was a long and probably the most boring part of this whole procedure but it was very vital. To find the right composition he had to look at his subject from different perspectives and in different lights. This meant observing Seonghwa and his behavior like he was some kind of human guinea pig. A lovely one, of course.

Hongjoong steered into the direction of the canteen. He wasn't hungry but he knew that Seonghwa was in there enjoying his lunch. It didn't even take him half a minute to detect his muse amongst all the hungry students and with nothing else but his half-empty strawberry milk, Hongjoong sat down somewhere close to Seonghwa but still far enough away so he wouldn't attract his attention. He leaned back, slurped his milk and tapped his finger to the rhythm of a song he'd forgotten the name of on the tabletop. His curious eyes pierced through the back of Seonghwa's head like he was trying to find a way into his mind. He wondered if it was a loud and chaotic place or if there was nothing but a quiet white noise. Maybe it was a healthy mixture of both, Hongjoong really would've loved to know. He wished he could get a little insight into Seonghwa's thoughts, his feelings. To him, Hongjoong still didn't exist, even though they were in the same course and often in the same room together. Hongjoong was yet just another among the billion undiscovered stars in the sky, all of them wanting to shine brighter than the other but eventually all of them looked the same. He didn't plan on becoming the brightest star in Seonghwa's sky, no. He wanted to be the only one, just like he'd become the only one for Hongjoong.

Had he grown attached too quickly? Probably. He'd already dug his sharp claws into Seonghwa's warm flesh and the poor thing didn't even know it yet. He couldn't feel the pain yet, was too blind to see the blood running down his beautiful skin. His lack of knowledge, his innocence, Hongjoong found it very beautiful. It was almost sexy. There was something exciting about it, it made him want to go over to him, take his beautiful cheeks into both of his hands and kiss his forehead with his faked gentleness. Poor child, he would say to him, you poor, poor child. But in fact he was so lucky. He was so lucky to be the chosen one. 

And actually, Hongjoong could say that he'd found out quite a lot of things about Seonghwa in the course of the first week. He was a very interesting person, mostly because he was so utterly and completely boring, just like his brother once was. His eyes were constantly glued to his phone display and Hongjoong believed that this had more than just one reason. He didn't want to be spoken to, the phone made him look disinterested but also busy. It was the same as getting _do not interact_ tattooed on your forehead. Most of the time he even had his cheap earphones plugged in but Hongjoong believed he didn't even listen to music. It was all just show. But on the other hand, he really seemed to be invested in what he was looking at on his phone. Hongjoong had tried a few times to catch a glimpse of the display but all he could see was words and words and more words. Seonghwa was always reading. Hongjoong didn't know what exactly he was reading but if he could guess, he would go for fantasy novels or highly erotic stories, those about women thirsting after men in suits with a neck or breast tattoo and juicy abs, a cigarette clenched between their teeth. No matter what he was reading, it was a way for Seonghwa to escape reality. The first second Hongjoong saw him he already knew that his muse hated it here, he hated the people in the lecture hall, he hated the professors and he hated his life. But he didn't do shit about it and that was the most important part. Hongjoong would come to his rescue.

Seonghwa was insecure, didn't talk a lot, but when he was being spoken to you could see the sweat beads on his temple, his eyes wide. For at least the next five days he'd think about how awkwardly his voice sounded when he said _yes_ after being asked if the pen that had fallen from the table was his. Watching him was like watching a movie, it was damn entertaining. The only down part was that because Seonghwa barely spoke, Hongjoong couldn't even describe his voice to you after almost a whole week. He was quiet, yeah, and his voice was soft and shy. But Hongjoong believed that that was not Seonghwa. He could be different, there was so much potential in his voice that he didn't use, it was a shame.

But another lovely thing Hongjoong had noticed about Seonghwa was his love for white button-up shirts. He only wore those. Sometimes he'd combine them with jeans, sometimes with black pants or brown ones. But the shirt was always white, almost like it was physically attached to him. Hongjoong had spent hours thinking about the reason behind this. He didn't believe that his sweet model didn't have other clothes at home or that he didn't know how to dress himself properly but maybe someone had once told him that he looked best in white shirts—it was a little confidence boost and since then he'd started religiously wearing them like people actually cared.

It worked, Hongjoong did care and he did notice.

But Seonghwa didn't make sense. Hongjoong couldn't understand the reason behind his shyness. He was a beautiful boy, no-one could convince him otherwise and he believed that Seonghwa knew that too but just couldn't express it. Maybe there was another factor that kept him from fully exposing himself and his true personality, his true potential. Hongjoong guessed it was his parents' fault. He'd find out about that and all the other things he was curious about soon enough. He couldn't wait to get to know his little cherub. 

But sadly, there was also one thing he hated about Seonghwa, even though it wasn't his fault. What he hated was the little leech clinging to him, talking to him non-stop and following him everywhere. The leech was Mingi. Hongjoong had tried to pretend he wasn't there but it was hard when he protected Seonghwa like a freaking bodyguard or something. Hongjoong had seen the little attempts Seonghwa made to prevent Mingi from talking to him, putting in his earphones was one of them, but he didn't know Mingi as much as Hongjoong did. Mingi was open-minded and an extrovert, basically Seonghwa's kryptonite. He didn't care if you were on the phone with the president or if you were deaf, he spoke to you. A lot. Mingi was everything Hongjoong didn't need, that's why he hadn't chosen him in high school. He was worth looking out for but he wouldn't be able to prevent Hongjoong from making his plan come true, just like he hadn't been able to stop him last time.

Hongjoong searched his bag for his sketchbook, the little black one he always carried around with himself. He flipped through it until he found an empty page and took his pencil out of his breast pocket, he liked having one within his reach so he could start drawing whenever he felt like it. He leaned back against the chair and looked up, Seonghwa was directly in his field of vision. He was able to look him straight into the face, he could see his eyes glisten from afar.

Oh, he'd give so much—everything—to suck the life out of his beautiful body and draw him like that, right there in the cafeteria and it would be just the two of them in utmost silence. What a wonderful imagination, or should he better call it a vision? 

With his eyes fixed on his muse, Hongjoong began putting down the first lines. He carefully observed Seonghwa's face, tried to read it and tried to recreate his features as best as he could. His stare was blank, it seemed like he was staring holes into the air, eyes not particularly focused on anything. It was an empty glance, an expression seemingly without emotions but if you looked closer, you could see all those repressed feelings that tried to find their way out of his chaotic mind but they just couldn't, and so he was left with nothing but a mask on his face. He already seemed so void of life that Hongjoong stopped drawing for a second, contemplating whether his muse was actually still alive or if he'd just deceased right there on the spot, just like that. His numb expression made Hongjoong feel something, he felt it in his chest first, then it spread through the rest of his body. Was he aroused? He shuddered, tried to focus on his drawing again. He tried to capture Seonghwa's face from different angles, sometimes he actually turned his head to Mingi to answer him, but mostly it was nothing but a polite nod or a little head-shake.

Sometimes he smiled.

Hongjoong wasn't sure how he felt about his smile but he decided not to draw it. He liked his other expressions more, they held more emotions than his little fake smile. 

When he looked up again, he felt a glance on him. His eyes wandered a little to the left, then he locked gazes with Mingi. Hongjoong didn't feel like smiling at the leech but he did it anyway, even though it was only a little smile. As always, Mingi didn't reciprocate it. Hongjoong usually didn't care about that but this time Mingi didn't just not smile back but he also looked fairly upset. He then saw his lips moving, (did he ever stop talking?) and suddenly there was another pair of eyes on Hongjoong.

That was the first time they looked at each other. It was the first time Seonghwa fully acknowledged Hongjoong's presence, maybe it was the first time he'd ever noticed the painter with the blue hair. The innocent look on his face was both priceless and worthless at the same time, nothing in between, it felt utterly unreal. Somehow Hongjoong found that he resembled his brother. Not because of his looks but because of the aura he radiated. Hongjoong dared to describe this moment as magical. It would've been a little better if the leech hadn't stuck to Seonghwa's side like that but Hongjoong didn't want to let this moment be ruined just by Mingi's mere presence.

But strangely enough, Mingi got up from his seat and for the first time Hongjoong saw his cherub in action. Seonghwa wrapped his hands around Mingi's arm, tried to pull him onto his chair again. It looked so passionate how he clung to his leech that Hongjoong almost got a little jealous. He was fascinated by Seonghwa's sudden change in attitude, he'd never seen him so worked up about something and sadly the painter didn't even know what the reason for all this was. His eyes were glued to him, attention fully focused on his cherub. He had potential. It was almost like Seonghwa wasn't really shy and introverted, like it was just an act. He much more wanted to be loud but maybe he didn't know how, maybe he was afraid. Poor cherub, he was so lovely.

But Mingi managed to escape Seonghwa's cat-like claws and only then was Hongjoong able to look away from him. Mingi was coming his way and he didn't look very happy, he looked pissed. Hongjoong almost got curious about what might have made him angry, but then again he didn't really care. He only started to enjoy this when Mingi really came over to his table, when he stood right in front of him. He didn't say hello, didn't even nod his head and Hongjoong just accepted it with a smile. Without asking, Mingi grabbed his sketchbook and looked at the page that was still open, looked at the sketches the painter had done of Seonghwa. Hongjoong had absolutely no problem with people looking at his sketchbook, his drawings were outstanding, marvellous, even perfect to some. And even though Hongjoong really didn't like Mingi, he had to admit that by coming over to his table and grabbing his sketchbook he'd done Hongjoong a huge favor. He'd helped the painter get noticed by Seonghwa without him having to forcibly create an unnatural way of approaching him. You could call Mingi an accomplice.

The way he furiously observed the sketches made Hongjoong believe that Mingi might have had a crush on Seonghwa. Really? _Again?_ Hongjoong suppressed the urge to rolling his eyes. Typically Mingi, he wasn't even surprised. 

He liked how Mingi's eyebrows curled up, how he looked up from the sketch pad into Hongjoong's eyes with those gloomy dark pupils full of anger and resentment. He held the sketchbook to Hongjoong's face and he was curious about what was about to come.

"What the _hell_ do you think are you doing?"

A smile crept up on Hongjoong's face, especially when he saw Seonghwa rush over to Mingi and appear next to him. His eyes were wide open, utter shock in his face. He didn't know if he should look at Mingi, the sketches or perhaps Hongjoong. It looked beautiful and all Hongjoong could think was that that was _it._ That was the composition in which he wanted to have Seonghwa, it was the perfect scenery.

_He could finally begin._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've made it through the chapter!! Let me know what you think of it and hopefully I'll see you in the next one! c:  
> Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, I love you all!  
> 
> 
> Your PoeticMilk
> 
> Follow me on Twitter ([OhPoeticMilk](https://twitter.com/OhPoeticMilk)) for more updates!  
> Or shower me with love on CuriousCat ([OhPoeticMilk](https://curiouscat.me/OhPoeticMilk))

**Author's Note:**

> You've made it through the chapter!! Let me know what you think of it and hopefully I'll see you in the next one! c:  
> Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, I love you all!  
> 
> 
> Your PoeticMilk
> 
> Follow me on Twitter ([OhPoeticMilk](https://twitter.com/OhPoeticMilk)) for more updates!  
> Or shower me with love on CuriousCat ([OhPoeticMilk](https://curiouscat.me/OhPoeticMilk))


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